


Holding Him

by SarieVenea



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, post-Conversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarieVenea/pseuds/SarieVenea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Conversion, H/C –Sparky, if you wish. John needs to cry, and there are arms that let him. Originally published May 2006 on ff.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Him

 

* * *

He was sick. Sick and tired and scared out of his mind. Changing, yes, going from the wrong to the right, but the journey was hell and all he wanted to do was find a corner no one had ever seen before and curl into the wall of Atlantis and cry out the pain and confusion and anger and instincts that didn't belong to him. So he ran, barefoot, weak, blue and scaly, slipped out after midnight and ran until the walls were blurred and he was lost. She found him anyway.

Bringing blankets and one pillow, she curled behind him into the walls and let him lean into her, holding him close and wrapped in the blankets. She let the tears fall without the respect doing the same, her arms around him and her mouth against his ear, whispering things he hadn't heard since his mother was alive. Things he needed to hear from her. That he would be okay, that John Sheppard still lived and loved and led and was there, underneath the broken genes.

Elizabeth sat still and quiet, letting the small boy cry himself to exhausted rest in her arms so that the man would heal and stand beside her once more. John's long body was stretched lankily across her lap, his head on her shoulder and his arms tangled with the blanket and with her own. She shifted slowly, gently, twisting so that the pillow would end up under his head and she could lie next to him, her body molded with his, absorbing the shuddering sighs and trailing her fingers over the fading reminders of this nightmare.

When he woke he was in the familiar bed surrounded by steady noise and hushed feet, the glance shared between the doctor and leader over his head that of family pulling in around their own, keeping privacy and necessity in balance. Words were never spoken between the leader and doctor, but they could see in one another's eyes that protection would come at any cost, be it from real vampires that hunted in the dark to imagined fears that crawled up a spine in the dead of night. A cool hand was in his own, in the one he hid in his pocket from shame, the thumb gently stroking the mottled skin. He let his eyes stay closed, the deep tired that sank his bones into the mattress taking any words of gratitude out of his mouth. He felt the brush of a kiss on his temple, the warmth of a forehead against his, the awkward hand on his leg, the silent presence nearby.

Soon, he would open his eyes and be himself again. Unforgettable events would be placed in boxes and allowed to collect the dust of discarded battle plans, deadened worlds, unusable theories and trivia of leadership. He would spar with Teyla, poke Rodney's temper and run next to Ronon, but he wouldn't forget a hazy, blurred form in a red shirt holding him close when the city couldn't catch his tears, wrapping him in safety and assurances of it's-okay when nothing was ever going to be the same again. It was after midnight, but there was a long way to go before morning.


End file.
